POTO: WhyFrom the Journal of Ubaldo Piangi, translated from its original Italian.POTO: Why10 years ago in General Fiction
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Some people ask me why. They ask me why I put up with her anger, her fierceness, her yelling, her screaming, her tantrums. I just look at them and smile, and ask them: "Put up with what?"
And that's exactly how I feel. Put up with what? Put up with her smile? Put up with her laughter? Put up with her fear? Put up with her joy? Put up with her sadness? Put up with her love? Put up with her?
I see the other things that she directs at people, the lashing words and biting remarks and haughty looks. And I understand that they put up with her. But I have never had that sort of harshness directed at me. She may yell from time to time, but it has not been directed at me. It will be directed at the manager or the stage hands or the ballet rats or the conductor, but they will not hear it. I will hear it, but it is not directed at me. And I don't mind listening, hearing her pour out all her frustrations in a long, ang